


procedurally_generated.exe

by MorbidOptimist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animated GIFs, Computer Code, Computer Programming, Gen, Glitch Text, God Tier, Gods, Homestuck Kidswap, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Video & Computer Games, experimental storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidOptimist/pseuds/MorbidOptimist
Summary: Rose English, Dave Lalonde, John Crocker, Jade strider.Four kids who really, really, did not like their role of the dice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ( originally a series of ask prompts on my tumblr )

~Rose E.~

 

Rose English knew that their ancestor’s were testing them; it was as clear as the cake boxes in the Crocker's closets and as alarming as the puppet’s ability to rise from the ashes reborn and unscathed. 

She felt for her friends, for it was their cries that had alerted her to just how manipulative and premeditated all of their orchestrations had been.

John’s deep-seated hatred towards Betty Crocker made his brand filled home a constant source of emotional agony. While she felt for his plight, truly, she did; it sucked seeing her friend be constantly ruminating at the mouth over one anxiety fueled conspiracy theory after another, part of her resented him over his, well, cushy lifestyle. It was hard not to; out of all of them, he had a house to live in with food in the cupboards that he didn’t have to hunt or replicate on his own accord. And though John was the first and firmest believer of her own theory of their genetic forebear’s plans of them, it was hard for Rose to think that Betty Crocker was the evil mastermind of it all; she left the boy boxes upon boxes of every divine looking confectionary known to man or alien-kind and the guilt of her doubt was the firmest gap between them.

Jade she feels, understands her struggle less; it wasn’t that the girl didn’t believe or disbelieve anyone, she simply did not care. For any of it. She spent her days inventing crude machinery that functioned far better than it had any right to by the laws of regular physics. Every few days she’d set fire to her stuffed guardian, only for the soul-awaiting capsule to reappear randomly some days later. It was her aloof and altogether unenthusiastic nature that bothered soothed Rose’s nerves, and aggravated her to no end; half the time she wondered if the girl considered any of them friends at all, or if she was too far down the well of her own scientific pursuits to think about what good fighting for the last shreds of humanity was for. 

And Dave, the poor boy; he seemed the happiest of the most of them. His island, while nearly devoid of food, was beautiful, elegant, and also lacking in any sort of monster at all, a fact that Rose was quietly jealous of. The lack of monsters seemed to balance out the island overwhelming sense of isolation, however, as even with the last of the carapacians, Dave was constantly channeling his loneliness into an unhealthy hero worship of his ancestor. Despite his near-fanatical devotion to his guardian, he had proved to be the least aware of their collective situations and disbelieved nearly every theory that had been thrown at him; as it was, he read his Bro’s books on how to obtain and maintain maximum coolness constantly and concerned himself with practicing their teachings, confident that his ‘training’ would make him the hero of their intended journey. It was naive but admirable, and Rose simply couldn’t let herself destroy the boy’s sense of hope and self-worth, despite her major doubts on Dave’s actual heroing capabilities. 

Herself, she supposed, was perhaps the most laughable of them all. She felt as though she had asked for her fate in some bizarrely twisted self-pyrrhic completing philosophy. Surely, it was by her own hands that she continued to bite at her tethers and claw through the mud of her shores with determinable glare and vexation. It had to be, for no matter how her beloathed ancestor had stacked the board, it was her action and inaction that progressed or halted the game. Dave would tell her that it was a gift horse in disguise; these cursed misshapen beasts terrorizing her island, that her mother had left her all of them as a way of pushing her to her full potential. John would tell her that it wasn’t a gift from her mother at all, but a coincidental circumstance, as the island had been Her Betty Crocker’s Wildlife Conservation and Preserve, and that she just happened to be living where the alien fish queen had tossed her proverbial Noah’s Ark. Jade… well. Jade was more than happy to hypothesize what sixteen years of eating alien meat was doing to her body. To her brain. She wondered if the girl’s obsession with her family’s tradition of dissecting things would prove to be something to worry about in future, should there prove to be a future for any of them.  

She sighed and ran a hand through her messily chopped hair. She had been in one place for too long, thinking. The only way to survive she had found, was to keep moving. 

She hopped off of the carcass she had been harvesting from and scanned the water beyond the shore. 

Rose didn’t know why, but looking at it always gave her a pang of what felt like loss. An empty, half remember feeling that was as scribbling static in her brain. Like a word from a dream she no longer remembered. 

Pushing the strange, faint feeling away, Rose turned to the trees and took a grating, venom-laced breath. 

She had several more fantastical creatures to go, before she’d have slaughtered every pearly white creature on the island. And if her mother, or her mother’s rival had so tenderly flooded the board with pawns to spite her, then she fully intended to wipe the board clean of them all as one final ‘Fuck You’ signed cordially by herself. 

She was not a hero like Dave Lalonde, unwavering and true. Nor was she as cold and calculating as Jade Strider, enigmatic and progidaly gifted. And she refused to be as John Crocker, uncollected and afraid. 

No, she was Rose English. Her home was a bed of monsters, and she intended to out-claw, out-bite, out-rage that lot of them. 

She was Rose English. 

She was Leviathan.    

And she was hungry. 


	2. Chapter 2

~Dave L.~

 

Dave Lalonde was not a perfectionist. 

Perfection was an abstract ideal to slide beside and synthesize and re-energize; his brother’s manuals taught him that. 

The key was in the presentation of self; everything else came after. 

Rose may have had the fighting spirit, and Jade may have been the ‘coolest’ of the bunch, but Dave knew that what really mattered was the mastery of the mind and the body. One over the other simply wouldn’t cut it for an apex protagonist. 

The psychology of it all was perhaps what he struggled with the most; the chapters outlining dramatic irony was a mastery level skill that he simply had to concede that he’d never be able to reach before anything got fired up.

Likewise, his swordsmanship only went so far, when there was nothing and no around to help him practice; he refused on point of principle to allow the carapricians to help him. As their guardian, Dave felt it was his duty to carry out the fighting for them. He sometimes envied Rose, for her supposed island filled with “monsters”. At least he’d have someway of proving himself to his Bro, if he had stuff like them around. If they actually existed at all. 

Sometimes he wondered if the loneliness was getting the best of Rose, like it had for John.  

So he focused on his other skill, the most important one. 

Timing. 

When to insert himself into a conversation, when to spout a clever one-liner, when to pun and when to stare mournfully at the horizon. 

It was tough work, work that no one in his group seemed to appreciate, but he could hardly blame them. 

It was for a hero to worry about the grand scheme of things and the minor workings of everything rolling into place. His friends were just along for the character growth filled journey, coming into their own as they aided his quest to procure their salvation.  

Honestly, he didn’t know why Rose and John worried so much; he had all the basics under his belt and all the motions memorized. 

By the time the fish queen or doomsday or… whatever it was, that they were waiting for arrived, he’d have everything sailing smoothly from the get-go.

He tried to reassure his friends of this of course, to help soothe them of their unnecessary and somewhat comical fears, but they remained unconvinced. 

It made sense he supposed; their story wouldn’t flow right if they all believed in him from the start. He had to earn it. 

It didn’t stop from stinging slightly.

Rose’s dismissal was perhaps the hardest to bear. 

She never said it, but he was sure that she could see the inadequacy in him; why else would she constantly lie about battling unsurmountable beasts and her intent to defeat them? Or worse, granting their existence, why would she push herself so hard to eradicate them so he couldn’t?

Perhaps, he thought, she was simply worried about being a background character in his story. 

He smiled at this absurd thought. 

All of his friends would get equal time in the limelight, having their moments to shine big and bright. he would make sure of it. Maybe then Rose would look at him more fondly. Maybe then as the story rolled on, she’d warm up to his advances.

He only hoped that their story wouldn’t turn into some sort of horrible love angle between himself, Rose and John.  

John laughed at him frequently; so sure in “Betty Crocker’s” inevitable victory of them all and the last crushing defeat of humanity. He meant well, and was the most friendly of his three friends, but the years of sugar rushes didn’t seem to have been kind on him. 

He was nice enough to send him all the cake he could get rid of tho, which Dave counted as a bonus. 

Jade seemed the most on track, as far as he could tell. Working away on all the things they’d likely need to take on their journey. 

She didn’t mind him rambling at her, all hours of the night. She never replied much, but he appreciated having someone listen to him as much as Rose listened to John. 

Jade sent robots sometimes to John, to help him fight only for them to end up getting themselves into horrible baking accidents. He wished his friend would buckle up a bit and work on his fighting skills before the Start, but there was nothing he could do aside from pester Jade into sending John more bots. 

He’d just have to be twice as good to carry him. It was fine. 

It would be fine.

His Bro had left him everything there was to know.

Dave smiled and fished the manual out of his pocket, staring lovingly at the name embossed on the cover. 

He was Dave Lalonde.

He was a leader. 

He was going to see his Bro’s work through to the end.     

He was going to make everyone so proud. 

_~~He was going to finally prove to himself and this blasted house that he wasn’t worthless after all.~~ _


	3. Chapter 3

~John C.~

 

John Crocker had a lot on his plate. 

He  _always_ had a lot on his plate. 

There was simply too much cake. 

Always, too much cake. 

The plates.

The spoons. 

The television, the telephone, the car outside and the mattress under the sheets composing his bed. 

All was touched and provided for him by the Betty Crocker Corporation and no matter how much stuff he periodically tried to throw out, he kept finding more. 

And more.

And more. 

It was enough to drive a guy bonkers, after so many years. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if he actually liked cake; or genocidal alien queens. Or the colour red. 

But John did not care for any of those things. 

No, he cared for none of them at all. 

He also didn’t care for the way his friends ignored his warnings. 

When the Batterwitch decided to return, he thought, his friends were going to live up to their ancestors; that staggering height of six feet.

Underground. 

it wasn’t all bad, he then thought as glared at the next house from the sidewalk. This house, like every house he had tried before it, was without residents. Just an empty neighbourhood in an empty city. 

He hoped this house would prove to be different, but he doubted it as much as Rose doubted, well, everything. 

Rose was keeping in shape at least, he thought to himself; she was tenacious enough to maybe face off against the queen for a minute or two. 

Rose, like Dave, were under the impression they could still win.

The twinkling messages from the piano told him this was impossible however; each note a sour little love note from the alien baking guru herself.

…He hoped she stabbed Space Hitler. Hoped she bled confectionary blood and realized the error of her baking ways. 

it was a dumb wish, he knew that; but he couldn’t help himself but to grin at the thought of the Betty monster getting her just desserts.  

It’d be worth the inevitable trident to the chest to see the momentary look of shock on the alien queen’s face as Rose barrelled at her full speed with a fist full of dagger and a face full of fury.   

It was pointless, Rose’s rage, Dave’s melodrama, his own flights of fancy. 

He took a steadying breath and eyed the door that had repeated over dozens and dozens and dozens of other cookie cutter houses. 

He wished he was as unaffected by everything as Jade was. 

Jade believed him about everything at least; she understood the meaningless of it all. 

Instead of pointlessly training or growing upset, she simply ignored the state of the world and their impending demise by making the most of her days, doing… whatever it was that she did in that skyline apartment of hers.  

He’d probably been standing at the edge of the sidewalk for too long.

John sighed and walked to the house, turned the knob and walked inside. 

There was logo after red-fork filled logo, the Crocker name spread across every item and object he could see. 

John slammed the door shut with all the force of a tiny hurricane, running back to into the empty street at full speed.

He screamed.   


	4. Chapter 4

~Jade S.~

 

Jade Strider was more exhausted than anyone appreciated or understood. 

It was hard to keep herself from worrying herself, frazzling at the edges and stifling her anxieties into her hands, into her tools, into her creations. She took scrap after scrap after scrap and molded them, shaped them, shocked them to metaphorical life and placed them in waiting.

The floors of Grandfather’s grand apartment building was filled with tools, with resources, with half sketched plans and terrible ideas. But Jade knew they were places to start, jumping points to dive off from. 

She supposed she should be making things to help with… whatever it was that her friends thought they were going to deal with. Emergency contraptions that would come in handy at the nick of time. 

She told herself, over and over, that the next one would be helpful, the next conversation she would actually reply, that the next time she set Lil Cal on fire, it would be the last. 

Each day, she’d instead pull a new idea from her head into her hands and spill it out across paper and coiled metal and bask in the rapture that was unbridled creativity and unrestriction. Half the things she made she fully intended for their nonfunctionality or outright uselessness. They were just things to clutter her space. Things to take up time. 

They all had too much time. 

And so little time at all. 

So much space between them, oceans and oceans of it. 

There was no point in pretending like there wasn’t. They would never be close. They would never learn. Never heal. The game simply didn’t care about any of that. Or wouldn’t, perhaps never did, might never will. 

Jade brushed aside her bangs, streaking them with grease; it wouldn’t be long now, she thought. 

The game was tired of waiting. 

There was only so much longer she could stall it.

There was only so long that she could force herself to hold off. 

She had never tried to build a computer before. 

And telegraphs were so ineffective…

She bit her lip and shook her head. 

No.

She would push that idea aside for another day. 

Just one more day of fun first. 

Just one more day of everyone being alive. 

Just one more day of being Jade, instead of being Strider.  


	5. Chapter 5

.

.

/

 

She had felt the pull of it, as if somewhere from within her blood or perhaps from within the abstract dreaming component of her brain;  lingering like an aftersensation from a dream. A half-forgotten longing, nothing more than then a primal impulse perhaps similar to Jane Strider’s infrequent desire to put those brightly colored dishwashing fluid packets in her mouth; dumb monkey brain, she’d often say in disgust. 

Whatever the origin, she had felt compelled to try it out. Something had felt like she should have been able to do it seamlessly, without the use of keystrokes and tildes, but she simply couldn’t do it any other way. With no other options, there had only been one choice, with the correct answer being not to choose. 

Roxy H̵a̸r̷l̷e̷y̴ chose anyway. 

How could she have done anything else?

She had been practically raised by her computer, as her dearly departed mother had expired before any real recollection had taken place, leaving her to her own devices to survive. 

Well, perhaps that was a bit of a melodramatic take on it; sure she had been the sole inhabitant of the island, but she had had the internet and books and tons of scientific machines for food           processing and such. sUre, her social skills and well, a lot of her other skills were probably in underdeveloped in comparison to her friends for it, but she had done her best to get by/n?.exe || 

Her friends had supported her progress, though none of them knew about her mother’s late nature; and it was their friendship that had helped her stave off the suffocating isolation. 

Or well, they had almost helped her staved it off. 

Nothing had been able to tear away the sting of her mother’s death; her mother hung about her shoulders like a shroud, intangible and overpressing. 

The thought of her mother consumed her like nothing else had. 

˙ƃuᴉɥʇʎɹǝʌǝ pǝʇᴉqɐɥuᴉ ǝɹns sɐʍ ǝɥs ʇɐɥʇ ssǝuƃuᴉɥʇou ɹɐlnƃǝɹ-ʇou ɟo ƃuᴉlǝǝɟ ǝƃuɐɹʇs ʇɐɥʇ ɹo ɹǝɥʇoɯ ɹǝɥ ɥɔɐǝɹ ʇ’uplnoɔ ǝɥs No matter how hard she tried, 

So she had looked to other ways. 

W̸t̶i̷c̴h̸r̷a̴f̶t̴.

Code.

It was heavy stuff, the game code. Difficult and often g̴̹̰͊̅̕ĺ̴̙͊̄͆ĭ̸̞̰̣̒̒̈́̓͝t̶͕͑̈́͂͝c̵̱͍͒͌͐͂̕ḣ̴̫͇̐́̅y̴̗͇͙͖̒̒̔͜ even in the best of places, it was something of a living monstrosity in and of itself. Her concern with it though had been backed by Dirk; so eager as he was to pull the rights out on the outfield as he was. 

She supposed her biggest mistake had simply been burning through the Game too fast. 

It was hard to s̵a̴y̶. 

The point of the game had been to win it, to create their new universe and drag it kicking and screaming from paradox to time loop to silly contrivance to create what they wanted out of it.  

“The point was for universal propagation,” Jane had said. 

“The vessel was to have been personal growth,” A R̵o̸s̶e̴ ̷h̵a̷d̵ ̷t̵o̶l̸d̴ ̶h̴e̵r̴.̵ ̴. 

Roxy looked at the swaddled genetic {code} breathing faintly at her feet. 

Which set of parameters had she been pulled from? Roxy couldn’t say.

She had spent so long patching the Ǵ̸̻͎̹̤̫̹̫͎͔̬̀̒a̴̦͚̪̜̲̗̘̼̖̬͍̓̓͋͐̀̋̇̚͝ͅm̸̞̬̺̲͙̼͕̝̖͈͙̲͎̖̬̪̤̌̎́̓̈̈́̈̽͠ę̸̲̹͚͙͉̹̥̺͖̑͛ and rewriting it and restarting it and scratching it, that she was largely surprised she was able to remember the situational variables individually at all anymore. 

Still, no matter the constituents or the setbacks or successes, her goal remained intact. It was the universal constant of her {self}. 

She licked her lip and picked up the lilac-eyed infant from the floor. 

“Hey Di-Stri,” she cooed; “It’ll be quicker this { **Time.aspect/{boy}}**.”  

[program.run.~ath.exe] 

Time, such as funny thing, she {thought.exe}.

The infant shattered when it {{{Ẽ̷̡̛̓̈́̃̀̕Ȑ̷͚͊̌͐͜͠R̴̜͊̀̑̿͆Ở̶͓͙̊̕͘R̸̢̧̜̹͉̳̈́͝}}} **([Dirk.exe] has stopped working plz fix: (y/n))**

“Shit,” Dirk spat, E̴̮̦̝̠̙͛͊̈́̓͆͌̌͐̑̒̔̓̃̿͒̇̆͘̚͝͝͠Ȑ̶̢͚̝̰̼͙̬͎̩̠͆̍̑̄̈͐̉͐͂̂̏̚̕͝R̷̢͖̙͉͍̹̞͛͛O̷̠͍̱͚̜̟͆̊̈́̈͌̋̐̅̈͌͆̓̐̏͠͝͝R̸̨̧̧̟͔̘̙̠̮̯̺̦̠͙͔̠͉̘̲̖͙̂͋̾̏͌͗͋̓̄̅̐̾̇̚̚͠͝͝͝// ///// ///// ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

    “Did it take this { **Time.class}**  ?” 

 

 

   “Hello Roxy.” 

Ḙ̸̢̧̢̢̨̢̨̢̧̨̢̧̨̡̡̛͎̥̞̼̪̘͎͎̻̯̫̥͍̫̫͙͉̻̠͉̠̼͔̹͍͚̺̼͕̖̥͉̺͇͕͕̹͉̲͚͚̹̣̗̖̹̹̮͍̙̼̹̙̙̩͕̼͕̣̖͎̩͓̠̳̠̗̘͈̳̞̬͍͚͔̗̗̫̮͙̗̥͍͈̱̭͍̦̺͈̥̙͍̟̜͙̪͖͙̤̬͙̟̪̬͖͔̳͓̲̟̠͖̖̞̞̲͇̰̭̝̩̭̻̭̙̭͍͇̬͉̫͎̥̻̹̘̫̬̻̯̝̭̭̘̜̬̠̰̳̘̙͖͓̬̰̞̖̖̟̣̱̪̗̪͍̺̣̯͎̖̤̯͕̥̥̖̪͎̙̯̪̱͍̯̘̰̤͚͕͖̫̥̖͚͕̦͍̺̻̦̦̻̣̏̋̏̈́̄͑͌̍̃͛̿͗̽̑̈̈̅͌̓̂͊̔̒́͑̄̀̒̊͐̓̂̇͆̃̋̎̓͂͐̓̊̌̇͌͒͋͋͑́͊̀̔̾̋̾̿͌͌̂̿̃̓̃̄̑̀͆̅̓̉͋̑̍̓̌̉̆̈̊͋̐̎́͗͒͐̔̐̽̄̒̾͂̍̄̑̈́̏̾̅͑̈͂̈̿̔̃̇̅̕̕̕̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅR̸̢̨̡̧̡̨̧̢̡̧̨̧̡̡̡̨̢̛̛̛̛̘̝̜̗͉͖̬̝̤̦̯̭̥͚̞̯̻̤̪̱̦̞̭̟͈̹̦͍͈̜̝̭͕̞͚̝̘͚̬̜̝̝̰͉̲̤̥̼̞̲͔̩͔̹̱͇͚̙͈̭̩͎̤̭͓̣͉̖̝̻͔̘̫̭̳͉̻͕̪͕̫͚̘͍͚͇̞̗͍͚͍̼̭͕̠̟̜̬̬̘̺͕̯̩̪͕̙̜̥̜̲̻̖̪̰̹̜̤̱̤̙̩̭̻̞̩͓̩͓͈̬̘͕͈̪̠̱̟̟̺͎͇̪͚̘̹͙̻̯̳̝̞̦̝̮̬͓̳͉̩͕̮͉̩̰̬̪͇̹͙̦̱͍̻͇͚͎͇̥̟̦̯̜͙̞͉̹̹̬̱̯̰͚̭̙̤͇̜̟͓̈́͋̋̓͊͗͋̌̎͐͂͆͊̈́̅̃̆̉̐̌̈́͆̍́͋͐̋̈́̊͑̈́͆̂̏̈́̓͌́̂̎̊̃͐͂̇̏͗̆͐͐̈́̓̂͐̈́͊̽̈͗̉͐̑̏̇̂͌̃̄̆̽͆̈̏͌̋͊͒́̚̚͘̕̕̚̚̕͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅR̴̡̧̡̧̧̨̡̧̢̧̢̡̡̢̧̢̨̡̧̧̧̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̤̹̳͇̝͔̹̙̞̘̱̗͇̘͈̙̣̰̩̮̮̜͔̫̰̜̲͈͖̰͕͓̥̼̺̭̦̼͉̗͕̦̯̞̞̰̜̬̗̰̼͉̼̣̲̙̜͖̰̮̗̰͙͕͍̙̘̰̣̠̼̦͈̳̯͉̝̻̖̰͙̫̖̰̹̭̩̺̬̮̫͍͖̟̜̯̣̖̙̣̼̖̞̰͚̙͖͕̣̙͚̥̩̟̬͍̞̣̺̬͍̟͙̖̖͓̥̩̹̮͇͉̰̣̭̖̫̯̯̼̝͉̠̘̳͍̺̩̟͉̯̣͚̭̪͖̳̯͎͓̟̪͍̠̞̲͍̞̝͍̞͉̟̳̪̥̲͍͓̟̟͙̳͍̞͍̱͈͍̣͔̻̗̩̜̥̯̤̮͙̯̫̘̥͉̳͈̰̰̲̪̘̝̜̞̖̬̮͉̲̼̳͍̲͇͍͋͂͊͋̐͋͒͐̃̉̔̊̈́͊̅̑́͗͐̔̂̋̏̽̈́̔̈̂͆̌̆̈̈́̇͑̎̂͗̓͒̊͐̒̆̇̀͋̒̍̈̊̄̈́̆̓̍̈́̊͌̓͆̍̏͋̍͋̐̐̂͋̌̈́̋̌͂̃͛̇̐͐̆͛̓͆̎̐̄̈́̈̀͐͗͂̈́̊͋͛͐̋͌͆̋̈́̑̍͐͛̄̽̓̉̐̉̍̔̈̒̌̔̉̃̆̽̈́͛̏̑̿͑̏́͂̍̆͋̈́̎͐̄̆̒̅̏̂͆̈́̌͑͒̏͂̈̊͋̈́̂̎́̌͗̈́͛͛͒̓̑͑̔́̐̓̃͒̈͂̎̊̈́̒̈́͆̐̆̅̿͐̊̌̈́͛͂̈́͌͑͋͆̔͆̔̓͋̔͐͒͗͊̓͐̽̂͌̽̈́̌̎̌̄̌̔̾͗̃̾̔̄̚͘̕̕̚͘̚̚͘͘̕̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅỚ̶̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̻̲̒͗̊̍͂̒̄̎̅̑͑̈̂͌͊͗̓̿̏͆̌͋͛̐̿̽̈́͑̋̔̓̃͌̅̆͌͊̃͗̑̇̇̓͂̿̅̓̿̒͗͆̓͆̀̀̃͛̃̓͋́̆̒̈̑́͒̒̍̾͐̎̓͋̃͗͂̎̐͊̾̅̄́̓͌̃̑̓͛̃̔̅̈̓͂̂̈́̇̽͋̉̒͊̎͂̎̈́̾̂̿̄͊̒̎͋̍̈͑̌͆͐̂̄̐͑̃͂̔̋̆̒̒͒͂̓̎͌̆̉̌̍̏̓͒̿̑̈́̊͂̈́̌͛̅̿͂͐̾̐̿̉̔̾͂̈̅̿̉͗̈͗̇̏̀͂͒̉͛̓͛͌̑͆́̍̀̓̒̎̊͆̿̓́̋̂͗̂͊͘͘͘͘͘̕͘͘̚͘͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅṞ̸̢̡̨̡̧̢̨̡̨̧̧͎̼̬̪͈̹̥̳͇̟̲̗͇̖͙͔̞̹̻̣͈̙̰̙͙̬̹̙͓̟̼̲̞̣̟̟͓̟͈̼̖͎̤̻͕̺͎͎̱͕̟͓̭͕̟̯̖̩̤̰̮̜̹̰̞̹̞͈͈̫̺̮͕̼̃̑̎̈́́̆͛̌̌̌̈́̎̒̐̓͑̆̊̉̈́̎̏̚͘͘͜͝ͅͅͅ.                          

 

<̷̠̤͚̖̐͛̒                                     Ŗ̵͔͎͇̥̺͊͊̍͘Ȩ̸̮̼̯̰̉͐̿̾̈̔̾L̶̛̫̟̎̆̃̈̈́̇Ỏ̸̺͇̺͖Ȧ̷͙̩͍̲͎͔̜̊̓͘D̴̄̉̎͜.̶̨̟̬͙̎ͅG̸̦̥̬̔͐L̶̯͔̤͚̖͆̒̈́̈́̋̏̈͜I̸̢̫̳͈̻͑͑͗̿̆́T̶̼͍̞̜̏͊̽̇ͅC̷̫͕̍̊͘Ĥ̸̦̠̣͔̖͉̒͑͒.̸͖̝͌̐͛̒͗ͅE̸͈͝X̶̪͚͈͓̹̐̃͐͑͠E̴̢͕̾̓̕̚>̵͕͗̑

                                                                                          ,,˙Ɛ> ‘noʎ pǝssᴉɯ I,,

 

 

 

 

 

 

  * “Hey Mom.”



<img> N/A </img>

///

<Launch.exe?>

||

[Y/n] ||

\- - > 

. . . ~Roxy H̵a̸r̷l̷e̷y̴~

 

“Who are you and how did I get here?”

“I’m Roxy, your daughter,” Roxy explained eagerly, her eyes bright and wide as her grin; “I’m also your mom. I pulled you here! Normally I wouldn’t ruin a session this soon in, but I thought I deserved a little me time, you know? There’s only so many sessions and replays that a girl can stand before she snaps or something.”

“I… see,” Rose said carefully; “In truth I was somewhat hoping to meet you in my own timeline. Is this the alpha session?”

“Is there any real difference?” Roxy countered, bored of the question; “You’re here now and I’m here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Just me?”

“And me,” Roxy chided, nodding along in a mixture of enthused pride. 

“And where is here?”

“Best not to ask that, it gets complicated quick and I’m not sure the script can keep up with it anymore. You’re a difficult girl to corral, you know?” 

Rose exhaled perhaps a bit more firmly than she intended, clearly still at a loss for her current state of affairs.   

“So why did you bring me here? Paradoxal temporal shenanigans?”

“What th-”

“I told you, the script gets quirky out here,” Roxy mused -( ̸¿̷ɥ̵ʇ̷ǝ̴ǝ̷ʇ̸ ̵ʎ̸u̴ɐ̸ɯ̶ ̶o̸s̵ ̷ʎ̶ɥ̶M̸ ̴˙̴ɥ̸ʇ̴ǝ̷ǝ̵ʇ̴ ̴ʎ̸u̸ɐ̵ɯ̷ ̷o̷o̷ʇ̸ ̷p̵ɐ̴ɥ̸ ̵ǝ̴l̴ᴉ̷ɯ̷s̵ ̴ɹ̶ǝ̵H)-

“Look, we’re only going to be here for a few more seconds, so why don’t you sit down? Chill with me a bit. Tell me everything about you.” :D

“How- Nevermind,” Rose amended, shaking her head.

“I’m Rose English*ᵛᵃʳᶦᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ#: ¹¹⁰¹¹ᴮ⁰⁰¹⁰¹⁰⁶¹¹⁰¹ᴮ and I was in the middle of my Land Quest. You were dead for centuries before I crashlanded on the island in the waterworld apocalypse that             was our Earth. You filled the island with monsters. In the most respectful way I can think to say, I grew up wanting to punch you in the face. Repeatedly. Until it couldn’t have been punched anymore for lack of structural integrity.” 

 

(*object.found)

 

“I grew up missing you more than {LIFEexe.run(y/n)} itself,” Roxy replied evenly-

 

(/Y)

 

-She pressed her lips to Rose’s suddenly-

 

 

-as the world around them began to take form, the fathomless space around them growing overwhelmingly staticy, sprawling with coloured particles gyrating at incalculable speeds in maddening arrays.   

 

 

 

**< [Load.instance.1816A.exe]>**


	6. Chapter 6

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.

.

 

**~Rose E.~**

 

**[Rose English knew that their ancestor’s were testing them; it was as clear as the cake boxes in the Crocker closets and as alarming as the puppet’s ability to rise from the ashes reborn and unscathed.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794947/chapters/34228287) **

**She felt for her friends, for it was their cries that had alerted her to just how manipulative and premeditated all of their orchestrations had been.**

 

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.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( .gifs in this fic were first posted by audiovisual-dept, and glitchyphotography, so a heartfelt thanks to them for those, )


End file.
